He Watched Me Walk Away
by auntkia
Summary: Jordan reflects - and reacts. WJ - kinda.


Disclaimer: They're not mine - just practicing my manipulation skills.

_He watched me walk away_.

I feel a bit juvenile saying that; despite popular opinion and my penchant for getting into trouble, I am an adult after all.

I suppose I let my jealousy get the better of me lately. The green-eyed monster does strange things to a person, including me.

Maybe it was my fault. I was never what one would call the ideal woman. I was a tomboy with a bit of a wild streak. Okay, forget the bit part – It was a wild streak. Well, what did you expect? I didn't have a mother to teach me all those girly things – make-up, walking in high heels, going with me to buy my first bra. Not that my Dad was bad or anything. He tried and did the best he could but – he wasn't Mom, ya know? Some things can only be between mothers and daughters.

But I get off track.

It was just in the last month or so and it happened to many times for me not to notice.

Woody and Devan. Leaving the morgue. Going out for drinks. Pick-ups after work. The flirting disguised as insults.

At first I thought it was just Woody being – well – Woody. Wood was the kind of guy who was friends to everyone – on some level – so I didn't think much of it.

Until last week.

I was walking with Devan to the elevator after work when Woody stepped off and, catching sight of her, asked if she were ready to 'do this'. Whatever 'this' was. I overheard his compliment on how nice she looked before he acknowledged my presence with a quick "Night, Jordan."

I don't think Woody and I have ever had such a short conversation. When we weren't fighting, that is. But even then, we talked more than a ten second, "Night, Jordan."

It bothered me. I kept seeing Woody and Devon as the elevator doors closed and hearing his compliment echoing in my head.

I don't remember him ever doing that with me – guiding me onto an elevator, complimenting me on my appearance. No, Woody got me out of trouble, chased me across the country and, on occasion, flirted harmlessly (from my point of view).

But he never treated me like he had Devan.

I suppose it was the jealousy that sent me out to prove that I could be just as much of a lady as Devan. I wanted to show Woody and everyone else for that matter, just how 'ladylike' I could be.

After inventorying my closet for a nice 'appropriate' work outfit, I ended up shopping, I hate shopping. You usually have to deal with salespeople three time your age or two times younger than you. Either way, it means trouble.

But I was on a mission.

After four hours of shopping and coming up empty-handed, I was annoyed. I just wasn't seeing anything that came close to what I was looking for. Hell, even I didn't know what I wanted. I just figured it would reach out and grab me when I saw it.

Figuring I'd try one more store before giving up, I stopped at a new store I'd seen but never really paid attention to. It was in one of the older building in the city. The facade gave no indication it was a place of business; it looked more like a private residence.

It wasn't the type of place I normally shopped on the occasion when I had to, nor was I exactly comfortable. I had worn my jeans and a long sleeved tee-shirt. Easy access in and out for trying stuff on, you know, not that that's happened too much that day.

Looking around, I felt distinctly out of place. There wasn't a scrap of denim in sight. I was definitely out of my element here. Maybe this wasn't a good idea. Besides, the only other person in the store had already given me the disapproving once over at my appearance. Another bitchy saleslady. Just what I needed.

_Okay. Focus. Just look a little and see if anything grabs you. Ignore the Wicked Witch of the West throwing nasty glares at you_, I told myself winding thru selections of skirts, blouses and pants.

"Can I help you?"

Great, she had to say something. _Smile, say no thank and go on looking_. _And get out as quickly as possible._ "No, I'm –"

It wasn't the Wicked Witch of the West. It was a woman my age. Or close to it. "I'm just looking."

Smiling, she piped, "Let me know if you need anything," before turning away.

That was it. No sucking up. No derogatory glances at my dress. No suggestions for things that weren't to my taste. This was something new.

Watching her straighten a pile of sweaters, I noticed what she had on. A knee length, A-line skirt in a patchwork print with tights topped of by a rich dark sweater set. That was cute. And classy. Maybe I could find something like that. "Excuse me." I couldn't believe I was doing this.

The woman turned to me, ignoring the Wicked Witch of the West glaring at me. "Your outfit – where?"

She smiled, knowing what I was asking. "This is a one of a kind. I made it."

There went any hope of finding anything I liked. "Oh."

"Are you sure there's nothing I can do?" she asked, abandoning the sweaters.

I hated this. It felt like I was a failure at being a woman. I needed help to find a nice, professional outfit that appealed to me. It was pathetic. "Well," I hedged. "I was looking for something for work - not too - you know - boring - but professional."

She was nodding at me in understanding. "What do you do?"

"I'm a doctor - medical examiner."

"Wow," she said, grinning. "I don't think I've had too many doctors in my store. So, what do you do at work?"

I stared at her. Didn't I just answer that? "I'm a medical examiner."

Her grin turned into a laugh. "I'm sorry. I meant what types of activities do you do? Sometimes my customers in their work are expected to look nice but end up dragging boxes of files around the office or standing out in the middle of a highway taking pictures - just depends on the person. I like to get an idea of daily activities you might run into."

Understanding what she was asking, I told her a little about the daily activities and watched her making mental notes.

"I really have no idea what I'm looking for," I finished lamely.

"Okay, well - let's get you in a room and see what we can come up with," she quipped, leading me to the back of the store, grabbing a few things along the way before shoving me into a small room with an armload of clothes and an order to change and come right out.

So much for non-pushy saleswomen.

Looking through the pile of clothes I was hanging on the hooks, I had to admit most of it appealed to me. Maybe I would find something.

Three hours later, I left more professionally fashion minded and not as broke as I feared when I made my selections.

Now I just had to bide my time to present the professional Jordan. So I waited as things continued between Woody and Devan, never getting more serious but never going back to the way things were.

Three weeks after my shopping spree, I got my chance. I had to testify in court in a suspicious auto accident death case. Not too big a deal but since everyone always felt the need to tell me I needed to look appropriate when I testified - well, you get the picture.

Taking care with my dress that morning, I couldn't help but be a little nervous and felt a little childish with my 'I'll show them' attitude but, hey, we all have our moments of immaturity. And I felt the need to prove this to myself as well.

Walking in the bustling courthouse that morning, and seeing the double takes and outright stares, I knew I'd succeeded.

The black boucle pencil skirt trimmed in pink ended in a sexy fishtail hem (according to Gracie, the chick from the store, and no, I still don't know where that term came from - it just looks like a little ruffle to me) at my knees and the pink sweater set was a throw back to the sex kitten styles of the sixties. Not too sexy but very ladylike. Not too casual. Gracie had suggested a headband in my hair for this outfit and giving in to her, I'd found one with a small pink butterfly adorning the side that seemed to give some order to my unruly curls. I had to laugh at myself. I hadn't worn a headband since before my Mom died.

Seeing Woody with Rene at the door of the courtroom, I mentally prepared myself for either success or failure. Neither had noticed me approaching but with the heels I was in, I couldn't exactly go charging down the hall at full speed. Nor did I find I wanted to. I was having too much fun at the moment.

I remained silent upon nearing them. Finally, Rene noticed me, doing a double take. But Rene's reaction wasn't what I really cared about. What would Woody do?

Pretending not to notice him, I knew Woody's gaze followed Rene's. Rene recovered her composure fairly quickly, where Woody just managed to stare open-mouthed while Rene gave me a quick rundown of the day before disappearing into the courtroom.

I would have to conclude that I'd succeeded in proving I was as much of a lady as Devan, judging by Woody's impression of a fish out of water. His mouth was moving but nothing was coming out.

Finishing with Rene, I turned to him. "Hey, Wood. How's it goin'?"

He blinked as if coming out of hypnosis. "Jordan, what happened?"

_Today's score: Jordan - one; Devan - zero_. "What?"

"You. You're in a - a -"

I smiled at him. "It's called a skirt, Woody."

"I know what it's called. I mean - why - how-" he stammered.

This could by really fun. "Because it's appropriate for the occasion."

"Dr. Cavanaugh?"

The court officer stood at the door of the courtroom. I was up first. "Well, that's me. See ya later."

Heading to the courtroom, I didn't need to see whether or not Woody was watching. I could feel him watching me.

And for the first time in a long time, there was a little spring to my step. And maybe a little extra energy to my high-heeled stride to go along with the flounce at the back hem of my skirt.

_He watched me walk away._


End file.
